Your cruel device Your blood, like ice…..

Now…. I should be at a gathering which I arranged tonight.

For years now I have an alter-ego, Chairman Bob, chairing the Jumpers for Goalposts Fantasy Football League made up of current and ex-UCL HR staff members and family members. This season we have 51 of us plus a few more who are only in our sister league UCL HR League of Wonders only open to current staff as at the start of the season.

Every term we have a right old knees up and I show how quickly I get drink and how often I need the loo when drinking beer. Tonight, sadly, I have to miss it but I hope in my next blog I have tales of revelries and derring-do to recount second-hand.

Here is a picture of Neil proudly holding two trophies aloft neither of which we won. Indeed he is rubbish

So I went to the doctor yesterday ostensibly about my big fat sausage finger (n.b. I used the word ‘ostensibly’ as I am very learned). After discussing my fat sausage finger x-ray results and my fat sausage finger blood test results I thought that was that. Oh no. It seems that the doctor had medical evidence to support her assertion that I am a big fatty bum bum, who sits on his lardyarse far too much, eating muffins and drinking beer. TBH that wasn’t quite the way my results were explained to me but in common parlance (n.b. use of word ‘parlance’) that was what she was saying.

Now to be fair – as I admitted as I struggled to get on the groaning weighing scales – I had only just eaten a blueberry muffin when a) I had just had lunch, b) I was not hungry and c) I was about to see the doctor to discuss how fat my sausage finger was / is.

I said ‘Mrs Bob is going to say “told you so”‘. I was right. And she did. I now have to eat healthy, drink less, exercise more, and follow Mrs Bob around the house more to annoy her on her days off. Can’t argue with a doctor’s advice.

Now hanging about at home too much and getting under your partner’s feet, I found out this week, has a Japanese word all of it own, This is so bloody true I kid you not as a learned man told me in the British Library on Thursday.

“The slang word for when the husband is at home is 大型ごみ, pronounced oogatagomi (oo ‘large’ + gata ‘scale’ + gomi ‘rubbish’)”.

I have been working on job applications amongst other things this week. The annoying thing is that they get back in touch wanting you to go to interviews. The interview, the job, the challenge and the work? All fine. Can someone please do all the preparation for me though?

Now I wanted to do an investigative piece of journalism but this happened…..

I just wanted to remind you of the Captain Cody ice lolly but can I find a pic of the wrapper (the answer is ‘no’)?

I have instead been forced to show you all these badges of which one is Captain Cody. Lime flavour I think? No idea about the other ones.

Jungle Jim’s or Lord Toffingham’s – not a trace, but I found a 2015 online chat thread and thanks to ‘Justaguy, South East London’ for this

Other than educating you about mid-70s ice lollies, I think this came to mind having just been to my parents. Reminded me of our ice cream man and when he came in the holidays and me and my sister were left alone, for hours on end of long hot summer days, in torment (etc) we were given money to go and buy something.

Lollies were not the number one lure.

Now come on! Peter Kay doesn’t do ‘do you remember?’ as well as this. Bones! They were THE BEST. I can taste them now and feel that corny texture. If Labour get in next time round JC is bringing these back. He’s got my vote.

Mrs Bob is finally getting me to go through my large football programme collection. I can keep the faves such as County v Wimbledon, but most have to go. I got sidetracked though as I mused as to how and when football programmes started. I assumed they were 1940s onwards but no, the first came out in the 1890s when Corinthian Casuals printed the local adverts and the next fixture on one sheet of paper, which was greased on the reverse side to eat chips and pickled onions off at half time!

In the inter-war years as the country became infiltrated by Nazi spies, football programmes were used to pass on secret intelligence messages, and in the Midlands some fans were known to have inserted razor blades into a print run so the programmes could double up as weapons in case of invasion.

The 70s but particularly the 80s, so the heyday of the football programme in Britain as school playgrounds rang out to the merry laughter of children saying ‘I’ll swap you my Aldershot v future Champions Leicester City, for your Derby County v ever disappointing Arsenal!’ and there would be piles and piles of football programmes all over the place oozing with happiness and love.

Then the phenomenon blew itself out when it was realised that the ink used in over 80% of UK produced football programmes was highly poisonous and caused death when touched. Only know are football fan stocks being replenished and the football programme making a comeback. That’s true. Ask my mum.

I have to stop now. I had hoped to discuss Marco Boogers and the Gary Glitter Glasgow hotel experience (the latter is not as bad as it sounds). I have serious stuff to do the next few days so there will be some relief for you.